Disjunction
by Asterie-Smiles
Summary: In the second week, Jemma starts talking to herself. (FitzSimmons, post-Season finale)


**Title:** Disjunction  
**Author:** AsterieSmiles  
**Rating: **PG  
**Pairing:** Fitz/Simmons  
**Word Count: **4519  
**Summary: **In the second week, Jemma starts talking to herself.  
**Warnings: **Spoilers for Agents of Shield Season 1 Finale.  
**Betas: **My BFF for characterisation, and the amazing Minnow53 for everything else.

_I began to talk to myself almost immediately,  
not being used to being the only person there...  
And I wandered through the house, like a little boy lost in the mall,  
and an astronaut could've seen the hunger in my eyes from space.  
_- Mountain Goats, "Woke Up New"

Jemma isn't good at inactivity. She normally has her hands full and her mind running a mile a minute, so it surprises her that she doesn't go crazy spending hours sitting by Fitz's bedside, with just the beeping of the monitors and the sound of her own voice for company. She's finally finished reading his second thesis out loud, and puts the binder down with a sigh.

"I really hope you've been listening," she says, "because I vowed never to think about that last paper ever again. That stupid project consumed enough of my patience and lab space the first time round." She takes his hand and closes her eyes. "Oh, Fitz, I can't wait for you to wake up. I keep making two cups of tea at a time and then having to drink them both so Agent – Director – Coulson doesn't force me to see that awful therapist again. I've switched to decaf because it was getting out of hand. I don't know if you remember the day I talked to you for eighteen hours straight. The doctors were none too pleased." She can practically hear his scornful laughter. "I know, can you imagine? It was like Finals all over again, journals everywhere and a lot of pacing. And it's not like I can just throw away your mugs: you know me, can't let anything go to waste. Even cat liver..."

His disgusted voice in her head is so clear that for a second she could swear she sees his lips move, before the longing ache returns to her chest. She has to get out of there, because if he really can hear every word he won't recognise the positive, cheerful Jemma he knows and, well, loves. She swallows against the lump in her throat. "That's enough of me going on for one day. I think I might take my newly-refreshed knowledge of engineering and try to make myself useful around here. I'll come back and say good night."

She stands and stretches before bending down to kiss his forehead and leaving the room, forcing herself not to look back through the glass where he lies, pale and quiet and far away.

* * *

In the second week, Jemma starts talking to herself.

She's in the makeshift lab, trying to distil the ICERs' dendrotoxin into a conductible form for Fitz's stun gun design. He said it was for close combat, but she knows he was really designing it for her, because she's a terrible shot and quite vulnerable to kidnappings. Just a month ago, it would have been fascinating and fulfilling, but now it just feels like background noise. She thinks of sitting in her parents' living room bored to tears, because her mum always insisted on watching Coronation Street before Jemma was allowed to switch over to something more edifying, like a David Attenborough documentary. Only now her life's work is the tedious soap, and Fitz is the show Jemma may never get to watch.

"And now I'm going mad," she mutters. "Just great. First too much tea, then ridiculous metaphors, and before we know it you're right as rain and I'm the one whose brain's gone all squiffy."

She turns back to the prototype, but doesn't know what she's doing with the mechanics, and she's so tired that the components start to blur before her eyes. "Fitz, how on earth is this all meant to fit together?" she asks, and as soon as his name is out there in the silence of the room she slaps her hand over her mouth and tries to blink back the tears. She shakes her head and straightens her shoulders. "It's fine, don't you worry. I'll figure it out; I'm not having you all grumpy because I've accomplished absolutely nothing while you've been asleep."

She's fine for about half an hour before fatigue starts to overwhelm her, and she wanders aimlessly towards the kitchen.

"There she is," says Agent Triplett. Antoine, she corrects herself, she should call him Antoine, as he's asked her to. Not that she's very good at being anyone's friend right now. "You are just in time for some of my grandmother's signature peach cobbler. Well, the long-life ration substitute, but still delicious."

She forces herself to smile while she reaches into the cupboard for two mugs. "Thanks, but I'm not hungry. Think I'm just going to have some tea and head to bed."

He frowns and looks her up and down, but clearly decides against commenting on how thin she's become. "Well, I'll leave yours in the fridge, but it might be gone soon. May actually smiled when she tried it."

Jemma smiles too, then. "That is a ringing endorsement. Oh, damn." She looks down at the two cups, one strong and unsweetened and the other milkier with two sugars because Scottish people aren't quite as bad as Americans but still don't truly appreciate the sanctity of tea.

Antoine comes over. "Need me to take this off your hands? You'll never get to sleep otherwise."

"It's decaf," she replies, passing him the mug, "but it's yours if you can stomach the sugar."

"Sugar's fine, I just don't know why you'd want all that milk in there."

"I know," she replies. "A little cools it down a bit and softens it, but you might just as well be drinking—"

"Creamy water."

Jemma laughs as he finishes her line in the argument she's made a million times before, but then she feels as if she's watching in slow motion as he lifts the mug and takes a sip. Something inside her chest seizes up because that's Fitz's tea and she's Fitz's partner and what on earth is she doing laughing with this man when a few hundred metres away the most important person in the world is lying in a coma because of her? Is this really how she's going to repay him for such a huge sacrifice?

"Simmons? Simmons? Simmons, look at me, look at me, you need to breathe. Look at me? Breathe, deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth, that's it, you're okay."

She snaps out of it to feel Antoine's hands on her upper arms, holding her still, and she can't stop crying.

"Skye," she sobs. "Get Skye."

Skye's there in record time, and Jemma grabs her like a lifeline and buries her face in Skye's shoulder. "He saved my life. He saved my life, and I can't do anything with it. I can't make tea, I can't work, I can't have a normal conversation without a panic attack... he's going to be so disappointed in me."

Skye puts her hands on Jemma's shoulders and looks her in the eye. "I will never get how someone so smart can be so stupid. Fitz adores you, and when he wakes up I guarantee all he'll want is to know you're safe. Now how about we go and say good night to him and then get you to bed?"

Jemma nods, sniffling, and turns back to the kitchen. "Agent— Antoine. I'm sorry, I just..."

Antoine starts to raise his mug of tea but catches himself. "Don't mention it."

She thanks Skye at Fitz's door. "Please don't tell Director Coulson," she whispers. "I can't see that awful doctor again. I just need time."

Skye touches her arm. "I won't. But you need to talk to someone. Me, Tripp, hell, even May."

"I will, I promise," Jemma replies, and somehow lying comes more easily to her now, when she has nothing left to lose. "Thanks, Skye." She goes into Fitz's room, but barely has the energy to speak, and she feels too drained to sit and talk to him tonight anyway.

She moves on autopilot back to her own bunk and collapses, fully clothed, into dreams of drowning.

* * *

The next afternoon, Skye walks in when she's shouting at an empty room. "Yes, Fitz, for once you're right, maybe a monkey actually would be the most useful test subject this time, but that's not exactly an option right now!"

Jemma takes a deep breath, looking down through her microscope for a few moments as she waits for her blush to fade. "Oh, hello, Skye!" she calls, her wide smile almost sincere. "What brings you down here?"

Skye hops onto an empty countertop, in the area that Jemma thinks of as Fitz's workspace and has left untouched for him. She bristles, and Skye jumps down. "I thought you might like some company. You know, of the non-comatose kind."

"I'm not crazy," Jemma asserts. "I know what it looks like, but I'm not. I just can't think when it's so quiet."

Skye spreads her arms. "Well, I'm at your service. What do you need? Inane chatter? Monkey facts? I warn you, my Scottish accent totally sucks."

Jemma lets out a breath. "I think the accent might be too much. Thank you, though."

She turns back to her bench. "I'm trying to synthesise a more reliable form of dextroamphetamine, so that agents in the field can stay alert without side-effects. When it's complete, I should be able to create an antidote, so they can rest when they're able to."

Skye looks at her, head cocked to one side, in that way that says she's parsing Jemma's inner code. "Or is this so you can stave off those black bags?" She folds her arms. "I know you're exhausted. Everyone's out of whack right now, but I can't even imagine how you must be feeling. Especially now you've switched to decaf. Which is, by the way, totally your call, but might be an easier fix than inventing a whole new chemical compound-thingy?"

"The compound's nearly done, I just need to run some tests and find a delivery method that's more practical than injection."

"Wait, that's your problem? Ops agents are definitely badass enough to just inject themselves and get on with it, why go all James Bond?"

"Technically I'm more like Q," Jemma corrects. "And yes, we do equip agents with intravenous antivenin packs, etcetera, but it's preferable not to let anyone carry hypodermics in case of close combat, and I'm not sure there's another way because of the quantity and concentration needed." She pauses. "Maybe I could try to change the solution so it can be ingested? It's usually in a capsule, but with this formulation it might take too long to take effect. What about a direct oral delivery method, then? Like rubbing cocaine onto the gums. Though agents with white powder on them are probably not going to appear very trustworthy, and until SHIELD reinstates itself we'd just look like a bunch of druggies running round in bulletproof vests—"

"Simmons? _Simmons_? Jemma?" Skye is suddenly in front of her, waving a hand in front of her face. "Seriously, snap out of it!"

Jemma jumps and a rush of exhaustion floods over her. "Oh, Skye, I'm sorry." She tries to turn a persistent sob into a cough but can tell that Skye's not fooled. "I just... I haven't created anything without him, not really, certainly not for SHIELD, and I'm not sure that I remember how any more."

Skye puts an arm around her. "Agent Dr. Simmons, you are a genius in your own right. You had a PhD before you even met him, and I'm sure you know his research by heart too. If you need a sounding board, use me. I may not be able to think like Fitz, but you can—"

"Feed you lines! Skye, that's a brilliant idea!"

"Yeah, I... wait, what? Lines? That's not what I was going to say."

"It wasn't?" Jemma frowns. "But, Skye, it's perfect! You'd be like a transition drug, like a…a Fitz-otine patch!" She grabs a computer and starts to type a script. She's kicking herself on the inside, because how could this not have occurred to her sooner? It's what has got her through every challenge so far: preparation, preparation, preparation. She tries not to dwell on the persistent thought that she must be really losing it if she's starting to forget the key facts that make up Jemma Simmons.

Skye smirks and opens her mouth to speak, but Jemma cuts her off with a sharp look. "I still don't think the accent is a good idea."

* * *

"Good morning, Fitz," she announces, positively buoyant. "I know you're going to have a hard time hearing this, but Skye's actually not a bad substitute for you. Obviously not in every way." She traces his cheekbone with her hand. "But she's starting to pronounce technical terms better. I just have to get her to stop ad-libbing. I'm nearly finished with the delivery method for the staying-awake compound. We've decided on an oral suspension that can be delivered like a breath freshener. I just need you to help me think of a name."

Jemma pauses, waiting for inspiration, for Fitz to say something, for a solution. "I'll leave that with you then, shall I? I spoke to your mum yesterday. She says she loves you and she wishes she could be here. When you're all better, we'll take a trip, go and stay with her. Yes, I do still think Glasgow's one of the circles of hell, with good bars, but still. We can jump on a train to Edinburgh when we need some culture. I know you love the zoo."

She pauses, remembering their first visit to D.C., to the Triskelion. Fitz had been so impatient, waiting for a day off, and as soon as they'd been released he'd practically dragged her to the Smithsonian Zoo.

"Simmons, stop cooing over the bloody red pandas and hurry up."

"Oh, but, look, Fitz, they're just adorable! Besides, you need to learn that there are animals other than monkeys."

"You're a biologist; you tell me how any other animals are more interesting. Monkeys share over—"

"Ninety percent of human DNA, I know, Fitz, and I'm a bio_chemist_. But isn't it sometimes more interesting to look at the unknown, at creatures different from us?"

"Yeah, you wouldn't be saying that if I made you go and stare at some naked mole rats. 'Oh, Fitz, they're fascinating but so disgusting, let's look at the tigers again!'"

"I don't sound like that! And I know you, you're going to stay with the gorillas and orang-utans for about five minutes and spend the rest of the time going on about the emperor tamarins and their tiny moustaches."

"I can't believe—actually, yeah, you're probably right. But I think you'll find that the –"

"Capuchins are your favourites, I know," she finished, rolling her eyes but unable to keep a straight face.

He'd grinned at her, then, a totally unabashed, joyful smile.

She misses him so much it physically hurts.

"Right, I know that was a quick visit, but I actually feel as if I can face work today. We're going to finish that stun gun if it kills me. Oh, no, Fitz, I didn't mean… I'm so sorry." She presses a kiss to the back of his hand. "I'll get the nurses to put some music on in a bit, maybe Mumford and Sons today? All right, I'll let them know. I'll see you later, okay?"

* * *

When she does come back down to visit, brimming with excitement at the officially-named "Spray-key Wakey", a title Skye loves – "I hate to have to break character, but really? That is at the same time totally terrible and just what Fitz would have called it!" – she sees Director Coulson standing right outside Fitz's room, talking on the phone. She moves closer, trying to work out whether it's safe to go in, and freezes when she hears him.

"Yes, Mrs Fitz, I understand that it's a lot to handle, but we have some difficult choices to make about your son's future. I know that, ma'am, and I would never dream of telling you…I just want you to know that we're doing everything we can, but it may be time for you to think of flying out here."

Jemma moves on autopilot, snatching the phone from his hand without even contemplating an apology. "Hello, Marion? Yes, it's Jemma. I'm well, thank you. Look, I just want to assure you that we're not yet at the stage of 'difficult choices'. In some patients with cerebral anoxia a prolonged comatose state has shown to improve cognitive function, so it's far too early to worry. Oh, I'm sorry, you know Fi— Leo and me, talking a whole other language. Think of it as his brain recharging, like a battery. Yes, we all need to give ourselves a chance to rest and heal sometimes. Speaking of which, how's your leg? Oh, really? I'm so glad! But you make sure you don't do anything stupid; if you jump on a plane and do yourself more damage, who's going to be there to take care of Leo when he wakes up? Exactly. Okay. Yes, I'll keep you updated. Bye for now."

She hangs up and sees that Director Coulson is furious. "Sir, I am so sorry, I wasn't thinking!"

He grits his teeth. "Agent Simmons. Jemma. I understand how hard this must be for you, but you can't give that poor woman hope. Whatever you tell yourself to stay positive is up to you, but you know as well as I do what the statistics say. She needs to know the truth, as hard as it is."

"And what, exactly, is the truth, sir? We won't know the extent of the damage until he wakes up, and I truly believe that if anyone has a brain capable of using this time to heal, it's Fitz." She turns to the glass, raises her voice. "Do you hear me, Fitz? Your mind was made to fix things, and I don't just mean ridiculously named weapons! That's who you are, and that's what you do every day, and if you're wasting your time having a nice long sleep then you need to stop and remember that you're a genius and you're the only person who can make this better, so you'd better bloody get on with it." She shuts her eyes and rests her forehead against the glass.

Director Coulson puts a hand on her shoulder. "You have more medical knowledge than a lot of the nurses looking after him, and if I know you, you've done enough research on his condition to write another doctorate, which means that you know the prognosis as well as I do. Jemma, this may be the most difficult thing you ever have to do, but you need to start moving on."

"I am, sir," she insists, turning to face him. "I made a prototype for a new tool today, and Skye's been helping me. But Fitz and I have been together for ten years, and he gave up everything to save me, so I am not giving up on him. Not yet."

He sighs and looks down at the ground, as if steeling himself, before his eyes meet hers again. "We won't be staying here at the Playground forever. At some point, we have to become mobile, start establishing new bases and teams. And I need you at the head of our Science and Technology division."

She opens her mouth but he holds up a hand to stop her. "You can do it without him. I really hope you don't have to, but if"— his tone changes at her sharp, scared look - "_when_ he wakes up, we don't know what capabilities he'll have. You know him better than anyone, you know his research, how he thinks. Skye told me you've scripted days' worth of conversations with him, including ideas and technologies we thought only Fitz himself could come up with. You need to carry that with you and make sure he stays with us, with SHIELD, even if the worst should happen."

Jemma nods, brushing tears away from her eyes. She can do that. "I owe him so much, sir; that is the least I can do."

* * *

Skye rushes into the lab the next day, and Jemma holds out the script to her before looking her up and down. She frowns. "That's not really suitable clothing for lab work."

Skye nods, unable to meet her eyes. "Yeah, look, A.C. says I'll be in charge of computer tech and all our systems when SHIELD goes live again, but I still want to carry on with combat so no one messes with us again. Besides, May actually offered to teach me, and you don't turn down training from the Cavalry, am I right?"

Although Jemma knows that she can't lay claim to all of Skye's time forever, familiar waves of panic hit her in the chest, and she tries to keep her breathing under control. "Can't you train while I'm with Fitz?"

Skye nods. "Yeah, of course, it's not like I'm abandoning you. But today we're heading out for some shooting practice."

"But Agent May hates guns!" Jemma says, trying not to sound hysterical but knowing she's not fooling anyone. "Why would she take you out for firearm training when she doesn't even like them? Couldn't you just –"

"Look, Jem, it's no biggie. I'll be back later, okay? Tell you what, I'll grab food and we can watch a bad movie, how does that sound?" Her voice softens and she picks up the script from where Jemma's let it fall to the floor. "It's all here. Everything he would say to you today; it's right here on these pages. You can do this."

Jemma wants to believe her, but after four hours of rereading the script – which suddenly sounds flat and nothing like Fitz, even when she gets a computer voice program to read his lines – and trying unsuccessfully to turn the dendrotoxin stun gun designs into a proper holographic blueprint, she's exhausted and empty and doesn't want to face movie night. Just the idea of popcorn makes her feel sick, and she can't think of anything that would take her mind of Fitz. It's how she imagines it would be to have a phantom limb; she can feel him right there with her, all the time, and it slowly eats away at her every time she reminds herself that he's in a medical pod, in a coma…

She can't even bring herself to tidy up before she runs to his room.

"Hey, you," she says, "did you miss me? Bet you've been enjoying the peace and quiet." She sits down and pulls her chair closer to his bed. "Skye wasn't there today and I can't figure out how you meant this bloody stun gun to fit together. I wish you wrote stuff down more instead of keeping it all in your head." She brushes his hair back and tries not to think the most awful thing, but she can't help it. Tears spring to her eyes.

"I really hope you're in there. I mean, actually you. This is going to sound horribly selfish, but I don't know how I'd cope if you...I mean... we can deal with blindness, loss of motor function, paralysis, chorea; it might take a while but we can. But your memory, your personality..." She tightens her grip on his hand and turns her back to the door so no one can see the tears pouring down her cheeks. "Whatever happens, I will always be here. You know that. But, Fitz, you can't say all that and save my life and then wake up and not even be you anymore. That's just not an option. I know I don't have the right to ask for anything more from you, but I need you to come back so I can tell you… I need you to come back."

Skye finds her a short while later, hunched over his bed. Jemma can feel a dent on her check from where the cannula in his hand has been digging in as she lay down, and she tries to shake off the tiredness.

She starts to apologise, but Skye doesn't let her. "So, I've downloaded us some movie options: nothing sci-fi, nothing with monkeys, nothing too romantic. Basically, if it reminds you of Fitz it's off the menu. Popcorn's ready for the microwave, and I convinced May to let me take a detour for take-out so there's some delicious Singapore noodles with your name on them. What do you say?"

Jemma laughs, perhaps slightly hysterically, but she feels closer to normal than she has in ages. "I may not be able to eat it all."

"I've been out shooting things all day, I'm a bottomless pit right now – I promise, I will vacuum up your leftovers, no problem."

Jemma stands up, stretches the crick in her neck and looks down at Fitz again, stroking his cheek. "I'm off to watch something with Skye, in case you missed that because you like to block out girl talk. Don't worry; we won't start new Game of Thrones without you." She kisses his forehead. "Good night, Fitz."

She turns to Skye as they leave. "You do realise that every film will remind me of him somehow, right?"

Skye puts an arm around her shoulders. "I know. But we've got to make it a bit of a challenge for you at least: can you get from Legally Blonde to Leo Fitz in under five steps?"

Jemma puts on what she hopes is a contemplative expression. "Hmm… that might take some thought."

* * *

Jemma comes round to the sound of urgent whispers.

"She's finally sleeping without screaming the place down," says Antoine. "She's spent so long putting him first; someone needs to take care of her."

"Yes, but do you really want to be the one who stops her from seeing him? You'll be facing the full wrath of FitzSimmons, and even I'm afraid of that." Skye sounds angry, and Jemma tries to push through the tiredness and take in what's going on.

She struggles to sit up, "Wha—? Fitz?"

Skye and Antoine exchange a look. "Fitz is awake," says Skye. "We don't know—"

Jemma doesn't hear her, doesn't care what comes next, because Fitz is awake, he's awake, and it could still be a dream but it doesn't feel like it this time as she tears through the corridors. It feels real, as if the magnetism that has always existed between them has been reactivated, drawing her to him. She pauses for a moment outside his room and takes a deep breath, trying to slow her pounding heart. In that instant, it doesn't matter that he may never be the same again, because he is alive, and he is awake. Whatever happens, they will face it together. This is what they do. They are FitzSimmons.

Jemma reaches forward, and opens the door.


End file.
